The Favour
by Sinceslicedbread
Summary: Brendan, an empty flat and a young guest. It's a recipe for success, right?


"You ask him."

"No you ask him."

"I'm not asking; he's your flatmate too."

"He's your fellow countryman."

"Low blow."

"Needs must cupcake."

"Okay ok, stand back, this ain't gonna be pretty." Lynsey crossed the room towards him.

-O-

"Brendan, Brendan?" Lynsey was suddenly nervous about what she was going to ask.

"Mmmm um erm." This was the best answer Brendan could muster, as his mouth was full at the time, with brightly coloured, sugar-coated Lucky Stars breakfast cereal.

"It's your night off tonight, yes?"

"Always had you pegged as one of the bright ones Lyns" he said around his spoon.

"Do you have any plans?"

Brendan actually stopped munching at this point.

"You would need to know because….?" He strung out each word slowly.

"No reason, well no that's not true. Riley and I were wondering if you could do us a favour?

Could you baby-sit for us tonight?"

As Brendan choked on his favourite pink star. Lynsey sprang into action; she was a medical professional after all.

After several seconds of spluttering during which Brendan's life flashed before Lynsey's eyes. Normal service was resumed.

While Brendan clutched at the kitchen counter, Lynsey gave him a final slap between the shoulder blades, a little harder than was strictly necessary.

"No need to say thanks, babysitting tonight will suffice." Lynsey said leaning in cheekily to tweak Brendan's moustache.

"Thanks B."

Speech was still beyond Brendan, growling was not.

-OOO-

"See ya." Lynsey called out as she and her beau headed towards the outside.

"Try not to break him." Riley added, only half joking. He walked into the narrow doorframe despite both doors being open. He realised this may be an on-going problem for him and his broad shoulders.

-O-

Brendan was sitting squarely in the centre of the sofa. Baby Bobby lying on the one side of him (quiet for now). Take-away menus scattered on the other side of him.

Jameson's within easy reach on the coffee table before him.

Brendan was not looking forward to his evening ahead. In fact he was trying to blank out the entire event, before it had even happened.

So far, no good.

-O-

It's not that Brendan disliked children; or babies in particular. It was just that he hadn't had that much hands on experience with them. He and Eileen had raised their family along very traditional lines. The kids had been Eileen's sole responsibility and Brendan had kept a roof over their heads.

What with the hours that he'd worked and his frequent trips away, Brendan's share of the child rearing had been limited to the odd bedtime story and a once-in-a-blue-moon kickabout in the park.

Brendan had often been shocked at how quickly his children had grown. He felt that he had missed out of several developmental stages, but this couldn't be helped.

-O-

One stage he was not sorry he had missed had been this stage. The mewling baby stage.

Brendan didn't see the point of babies. They didn't _do_ anything. They just ate, pooped and slept if you were lucky and … well that was it. Their skill-set in a nutshell.

-O-

Brendan looked down on his young charge with disinterest. Willing him to be at least seven years old and capable of conversation. He closed his eyes and was still surprised that Bobby M.C. hadn't changed one iota when he opened them again.

Only that wasn't true. Bobby had acquired something in the meantime.

A bad odour.

Which was getting worse.

Brendan groaned, his evening was starting to go downhill already.

Now that he was aware of the strong smell. The fragrance was hitting him in waves.

Reluctantly Brendan lifted Bob B up, placing his hands under his armpits and holding him away from his body at arms length.

Lynsey had thoughtfully turned her bedroom into a baby-changing area. Bobby's crash pad, wipes, nappies and lotion had been set up in alphabetical order.

Brendan resisted the urge to gently drop mini-Rooney from a little distance from the mat, so that he could watch him bounce.

Most men worry about putting a nappy on, Brendan was finding it a challenge to get one off. The child Costello's seemed to be spot-welded in place. What with Bobby's wriggling and Brendan's tugging, the conclusion was explosive.

The ample contents of Bobby's used nappy went e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e. If Brendan had been redecorating this room, some wag may have commented that he had missed a bit, as only a small section of one wall remained untouched by Bobby's internal workings.

"You have got to be kidding me! How can someone so small, make so much …stuff?"

Bobby had the audacity to giggle. Loudly.

Wall-to-wall smell (surround smell if you will) focused Brendan's mind and he managed to change the miniature monster in double-quick time.

He placed him on the sofa in the living room as he returned to mop-up, wipe down and disinfect Lynsey's room.

It took a while.

-O-

Brendan finally flopped down in an armchair and exhaled a sigh of exhaustion. He reached for the Jameson's and poured himself a large measure. Before it reached his lips however, Brendan had a nagging feeling he had forgotten something. He turned his head and saw his keys and phone on the mantelpiece beside him and smiled, no everything was in order. He leant back and rested his head; and then it hit him.

The silence.

No gurgling.

No burping.

No snuffling.

Little Bob was nowhere to be seen.

Ordinarily, this would have been the pre-curser to a blissful evening; but not tonight, obviously.

"**BOB WHERE ARE YE, YER LITTLE EEJIT?"**

Manners had never been Brendan's strong suit.

"Come on, you're too young for stunts like this." He may as well point out the obvious.

Still only silence tickled his ears.

So twice within the space of a few minutes Brendan had to rearrange a room. This time he was looking for an eight-month old baby.

What can they do at this age? He wondered. Can they crawl? Walk? Skateboard? I don't know. I tell you one thing he won't be sitting down for some time once I find him. The lil' …darling.

After fifteen minutes of searching, Brendan was handed a clue. A sock. Followed by, another sock.

He felt like he was taking part in Project Runway's version of Hansel and Gretel.

As Brendan walked through the kitchen for the umpteenth time he saw a cabinet door twitch. He wrenched it open to find Bob Jr. curled up in a pasta bowl, resting his head in a colander.

"**WHAT THE FUCK D'YE THINK YOU'RE DOING?" **Brendan bellowed. In hindsight, he realised this was not the right approach to take; and here's why; Costello/McQueen III started to cry.

Correction: he started to scream, and scream and (oh what's the word? Oh yeah) scream.

Brendan had thought he'd heard everything, but he had never heard anything like this.

His eardrums left the union in protest.

"Alright, alright, alright, I'm sorry I shouted yeah?" Brendan gingerly picked up the tiny tot, now rigid with anger. It was no mean feat.

He rocked him.

No change.

He bounced him up and down on his lap.

No change.

He paced the length of the flat with him, singing badly into his face.

Bobby Clayton Marmaduke Costello McQueen changed key.

_It_ cried for what felt like forty days and forty nights.

In the end Brendan had to concede that he needed help.

He needed back up.

He needed….

-O-

Learning from his earlier mistake, Brendan clamped Prince Bob to his chest, whilst he wrestled with his phone single-handedly. The small child wailed loudly at the manoeuvre and dribbled copious amounts of drool down himself in the process. Brendan felt his tepid spit soon soak through to his own shirt.

Great.

He flicked through his Contacts list awkwardly. The name he wanted was towards the bottom.

He dialled.

It rang.

Then his third surprise of the evening occurred.

Amy answered.

-O-

"Is he in?"

"Well wake him up then."

"Yea I've had a tough day too, just give him a nudge will ye."

"No I am not raising my voice. I am calm. I am serene."

"Ok, ok. PLEASE will you kindly rouse Stephen?"

"For fucksake Amy, I've got a bit of an emergency on my hands."

"What kind? Well it's baby-shaped."

"No of course it's not mine. It's Riley's spawn."

"No, it will not take offence if I call it that."

"I just do!"

"Amy. Amy- focus we were talking about making Stephen conscious yeah?"

"Well I thought you said he was in."

"Without his phone? Does he often leave it behind?"

"I know it's none of my business but you brought it up."

"Fine, so just pass the message on. Soon as poss."

"Yeah right, I'll put you up for receptionist-of-the-ye…"

"Hello? Hello?"

Rude bitch.

-O-

Grinding his teeth in gratitude, Brendan hoisted the future England Captain further up his side and wandered back into the kitchen.

He'd just had a brainwave.

Copying the actions of a mum in a detergent commercial he'd seen on telly, Brendan went to get His Majesty's bouncy chair from the bedroom. Placing this in front of the washing machine Brendan firmly strapped him in. On a roll, he decided to kill two birds with one stone and went to fill the machine with some of the staggeringly large amounts of laundry, which had been cluttering up the flat recently.

Removing a wayward piece of paper from the front of the door, Brendan filled it with powder and pressed play.

_Il Presidento _was mesmerised.

He actually drew a breath that wasn't followed by a scream or a wail.

Within ten minutes he was asleep.

Brendan was sorely tempted to follow suit.

-O-

Peace reigned for about twenty minutes, before Brendan heard Chorister Costello sing a descant to his earlier cries.

The washing machine door had burst open and hot soapy water was covering everything in sight, including the strapped-in infant. In fact the entire chair was beginning to float, providing Bobbin' Bobby with his first white water rapid experience.

Brendan actually hung his head in despair.

-O-

"Here let me help." Brendan felt a reassuring hand being placed in the centre of his back.

He turned to see Ste standing in his kitchen, scooping up Bobby out of harms way.

"I'll sort him and you can sort this." he said with understated authority.

"Deal?"

"Deal." Brendan responded.

It was though they had never been apart. They had _simpatico. _

In a short space of time the kitchen and child resembled a kitchen and child again.

-O-

"Why don't I make us all a hot drink?" Ste asked.

"That's the best thing I've heard all day." Brendan said.

"This little 'un is bound to have bottle made up for him somewhere. I'll check cos he's really hungry."

"How can you tell?"

"Well he's really grizzly and dribbly and sucks on ya finger when you offer it. Reminds me of someone I used to know." His eyes twinkled at that.

"I'm surprised that got past you. You like ya grub. So does he."

"I didn't think."

"No worries. He'll probably go down after" Ste looked Brendan up and down "Give you a breather."

This was said with a kind smirk.

Brendan paused.

"It's good to see ya again Stephen." His eyes held his.

"Happy to lend a hand." Ste gazed back and then ducked his head to try to hide his smile.

Feeling that he ought to contribute to the harmony that had descended on the household. Brendan suggested that they watch a DVD together, until Master McQueen hyphen Costello made his way to Bedfordshire.

Only Brendan refused to watch The Perfect Storm.

-OOO-

Arriving back later than planned Lynsey let herself and Riley in as quietly as was tipsily possible.

Freedom had gone to their heads and a nightcap had turned into eight. Lynsey knew she would pay for it tomorrow, but right now she didn't care two hoots. It wouldn't be the first time she had worked with a raging hangover.

The sight before her, made her catch her breath. Brendan was laid out on the sofa, with Bobby spread-eagled on his chest and Ste tucked in by his side. His arms around both boys.

All were asleep.

Riley chuckled.

Lynsey smiled stupidly. She always knew Brendan was a big softie at heart. Not that she would tell him that to his face. She also made a mental note to herself, to ask Brendan to do this again sometime.

He obviously had a knack for it.

-OOO-

**Comments are always appreciated.**


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